


Giving Thanks for the Harvest

by fawatson



Series: ITOWverse:  Autumn Holidays 2010 [20]
Category: RENAULT Mary - Works
Genre: American Thanksgiving, Gen, ITOWverse, Metafiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-25
Updated: 2010-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-27 15:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6290194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Secretary awakes on Thanksgiving to discover that <i>something</i> is going on at the Clubhouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giving Thanks for the Harvest

**Author's Note:**

> The character True River in this story is a fictional version of the person who, at the time the story was written, was owner and co-moderator of the [maryrenaultfics](http://maryrenaultfics.livejournal.com) LiveJournal community.

The Secretary was conscious of a slight feeling of malaise as she rose that morning.  Not that she had any real reason to be out of sorts, she acknowledged inwardly, as she made her ablutions.  After all, the day was clear, and while the air had an autumnal chill to it, it was not really cold.  It was just....

It was ‘just’, if she told the truth—at least to _herself_ if none other—that the celebrations a couple of weeks ago had brought home to her just how changed her world really was.  Still, there was no helping it....

She had not really wanted to get out of bed—had toyed with the idea of staying there, in fact.  Except she knew she would have had to field too many well meaning enquiries after her health.  So, mid-morning, she made her way down the wide central staircase, turned right at the bottom, and pushed open the kitchen door—or _tried_ to.  It seemed stuck.  She turned the door handle and pushed again.  No, not stuck:   _locked_.  That was peculiar. 

“This way, my lady,” said Bagoas from behind. 

He ushered her into the breakfast room, a cheerful room decorated in blue check gingham, made even more cheery by the bright sunshine streaming through bay windows.  The round breakfast table was set with a mixture of places used and unused. 

“Good morning,” Olive greeted cheerily.  “Most of us have eaten already, but there is plenty left.”

She pointed to the sideboard laden with full chafing dishes.  Bagoas whisked the Secretary through her selection:  grilled bacon, scrambled eggs, pancakes with maple syrup and— _no thank you_ to kedgeree (she shuddered slightly at the thought).  He had her seated, her juice poured, and napkin on lap before she could really take it all in. 

“Care for some tea?”  Olive gestured at the teapot by her side. 

“No, thank you.”  The Secretary’s response was polite, but bewildered as she looked again round the room.  Surely this hadn’t been here yesterday? 

“Indeed no,” explained Olive, making the Secretary realise she must have spoken aloud without realising.  “But we needed a breakfast room today because the kitchen will be off-limits—and the dining hall—while the preparations for tonight are being made.” 

“Preparations?” 

“For Harvest Festival.  Best eat quickly, dear,” she warned.  “There are the bells now.”

From a distance the Secretary could hear a cascade of bells of different tones, ringing over and over. 

“Where...?” she asked between mouthfuls. 

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll take you,” Olive reassured.  “Not that you could get lost.  The church is no distance at all.”

“Church?” the Secretary asked faintly. 

“With a spire,” said Olive.  “I _do_ like a spire on a church,” she confided.  “I’m so _glad_ we have one.  I do think a church tower looks somewhat _unfinished_ without a spire—though, of course, I know quite a lot of towers don’t have them.  But it always makes me think the tower really belongs on a _castle_ more than a church, don’t you agree?  Not, of course, that a castle would ever have a proper peal of bells,” she went on, “and I do think there is nothing quite like change-ringing to call one to service.”  Olive wittered on as the Secretary ate, oblivious to her listener’s confusion. 

“There, now; _that_ was good timing,” Olive said as the Secretary took her last swallow.  “We must hurry though.” 

“Hurry?” 

“They’re ringing the last bell to call us in.” 

The succession of different bells had ended; and now just one rang, a deep sonorous bell which clanged evenly.  Not quite sure what to expect—but realising she had best go along with whatever the clubhouse had planned now—the Secretary wiped her fingers and mouth with her napkin and rose to follow Olive. 

It _was_ close by, she realised, as she turned a corner and saw the church.  It wasn’t a large edifice, but it came complete with south porch and perpendicular windows, lead roof and crenellated tower topped with spire.  She hurried up the central aisle to the nave and took her place in the oak pew at the front, beside Lucy, who beamed welcome and helped her to find the right place in the hymnal just in time. 

All rose as the organ blasted out the processional to the small congregation.  The Secretary took the opportunity to look round.  Decorating each pew was an array of Autumn flowers.  A particularly splendid display stood by the pulpit, and arrayed by the altar and round the font were large piles of vegetables in attractive arrangements.  The Secretary sat and listened, knelt when the rest did, and rose to sing further hymns, all on a kind of automatic pilot, as the service progressed, and thanks were given to God for this bountiful harvest, with a blessing to all good men, and charity to those in need.  She let the words wash over her, politely going along with it all, until, in due course, the ceremonies drew to a close and Reverend Straike progressed out of the church, Lucy quickly following. 

“Are you ready to go?” 

She was startled from her musings. True River stood at the end of her pew, smiling knowingly. 

“They’ve planned it all for you,” she explained. 

“For _me_?”  The Secretary was surprised.  “A church service for _me_?  Whatever for?”

“Not just a church service,” laughed True River.  “I think you’ll find the whole day is for you.  Best to be warned!”


End file.
